I got a comment on a post last week that prompted a fair amount of whining and a little bit of ranting. Not wanting the commenter to misunderstand, I simply thanked her and decided to bring my bitch fest here. Without further ado, here is the comment and the thoughts that it triggered.
You know, you deserve someone who is actually compatible with you; emotionally and sexually. You do need to heal, allow yourself the full grief process. When you are ready, make yourself available to someone who wants you for you and brings as much to the relationship as you do.
Thank you. I’m trying hard not to turn cynical. People who care about me keep telling me what I deserve. And I’d like to believe them. I want to believe that she’s out there waiting for me to find her, and one day before I’m too old to appreciate and enjoy her, I will find her. But I’m beginning to think that I deserve exactly what I have: Nobody.
When I think that I have found “the one”. I give everything. It’s either not right, or not enough. I get burned. Lather, rinse, repeat. I’ve been married four times, for fuck’s sake. Engaged three times (including B) besides that.
I’ll be 45 years old this year. I’m short, fat and out of shape – nobody’s definition of physically desirable. I work too many hours and already have enough trouble getting sufficient sleep to be able to make a concerted effort to substantially change even the “fat and out of shape” part of that. I am the dictionary definition of an introvert. I have minimal social skills. I have shit for self esteem and self confidence. My sense of humor is sarcastic and mean. When I joke, I hurt people without meaning to or realizing it. My personality annoys the shit out of most people if exposed to it for very long.
In other words, I have nothing to offer but my heart. I love fiercely and without reservation or limit. There’s nothing that I won’t at least try to do for the one I love. But it’s never enough.
“But, Grumpy, you just haven’t found the right one, yet.”
You may be correct. But between being a hermit and working 60-85 hours most weeks, I ain’t likely to ever meet her, even if she does exist. Which I doubt. I proved that online dating doesn’t work a couple years ago when I contacted hundreds of women over the course of several months, and got maybe ten replies (most were Thanks, but no thanks) with zero face to face meetings out of it.
As many times as I’ve been hurt, one would think that I’d get used to it and subsequent losses would be less painful, or I’d figure out how to slow the process down in order to protect myself. Or I’d become too jaded to truly and completely connect. B proved that wrong. Three weeks into the relationship with her, I knew in my heart that I wanted her above all else. I confessed to Wifey and gave her the option to continue the immigration process without me, or not. Some argue that it couldn’t have been more than infatuation, a crush, or simply lust. There simply wasn’t enough time to form any real bond.
I would like to offer the following facts into evidence as a rebuttal: We were together for a total of less than six months. Over seven weeks have passed since she dumped me. While I am not the manliest of men, I don’t often cry. Yet, I have shed many, many tears over her, quite a few as recently as this past week. No loss or other event that I have experienced in my life up to this point has caused me anywhere near as much heartache or emotional pain.
That’s a pretty convincing argument to me that, either there was/is a very strong emotional attachment (call it love, or not, the label doesn’t matter) or I have a more significant mental defect than those of which I am already aware.
But who knows what surprises life has in store for me?